


Sounds Like Paradise

by RequiemForTheWolves



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Angst, Boarding School, Canonical Character Death, Fluff, M/M, Multiple Universes, Poem Collection, Poetry, Varying Timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2212218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RequiemForTheWolves/pseuds/RequiemForTheWolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But it feels simple<br/>feels like enough<br/>feels like forever.<br/>They are but youths<br/>and the world is their oyster<br/>and they have nothing but time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> So, I needed a place where I could dump all of the Dead Poets Society/Anderperry poetry that I've been writing, and because like most writers I have a compulsive need to share my work, I figured the best place would be here. So, I hope at least someone out there will enjoy all of the fluff and angst that I'm going to drop off here as result of school being entirely too boring, and the teachers not stopping me because they think I'm being productive when I'm really not.
> 
> I'm gonna go ahead and mark this as complete, because each poem will be complete in itself, but I'll probably be posting new stuff for a while.

The bed next to him will always be empty.

He can stand on his desk and cause a fuss  
Or take walks out to the old cave  
and recite poetry 'till he's blue in the face  
Scream it as it echoes off the stone walls.

He can turn in all his assignments on time  
Or spend his nights crying awake  
and his days dreaming of a better future  
and behind closed eyelids will his best friend back into existence.

He can write line after line of poetry  
Rip it all up and throw it away  
Pace his room as the words won't come  
Because all he can hear in his head is Shakespeare recited in that beloved voice  
And kick at his trunk 'till his foot is blue because it never used to be the writing that was the problem.

He can write lines and lines and lines of poetry  
and cry and cry  
And stuff all of the sheets under his mattress because they're not going anywhere  
Not getting read anymore because his voice burned out with that faithful plea for  
“Oh Captain, my Captain!”

But the bed next to him will always be empty.


	2. Two

Todd is glad  
he never saw the body.  
It would have been a closed casket anyway.  
No one wants to see  
the exit hole   
of a bullet  
through a boy's head.  
That's not what he cares about though.  
He cares about the eyes,  
large  
brown  
doe eyes,  
the windows to the soul.  
He'd seen Neil's soul  
that night  
with stage lights shining in his eyes.  
True happiness  
reflected in brown orbs  
lighting up the world.  
Or Todd's world  
at least.

There was another time  
when he'd seen Neil's soul  
reflected in moonlight  
coming from the window.  
They'd been talking  
in hushed voices,  
buried deep  
in Neil's covers.  
Bare skin  
on bare skin,  
his smile had lit up the night.  
Soft touches  
whispered words  
the happiness had been pure,  
even tangible.  
But that night  
was never talked about  
outside of the two.  
Now,  
it's not talked about at all.

Todd is glad-  
or would be  
if he could-  
that he was not invited to the funeral.  
He's “glad”  
that the last time he saw Neil  
he was shining with light  
and life.  
If he were to see him  
in death  
with eyes glazed over,  
he would surely lose his mind.


	3. Three

The thing about  
Neil and Todd  
Todd and Neil  
is that it's simple.  
Of course,   
it's not actually simple,  
not really,  
in 50 years it could be  
but in their time  
with their parents  
at their school  
it's not.

It looks simple though  
feels simple  
and that's all they really need.  
It's running lines during free time  
and sitting together at lunch  
and passing notes during chemistry.  
It's sitting next to one another at meetings  
reading lines over the other's shoulder  
huddling together during cold winter nights when they should be asleep.  
It's curling towards each other like parenthesis  
heads close together with whispered words  
so obvious to some  
if they know how to look.  
It's words murmured in the dark  
a bed too small for boys so large  
and a trust that so few in their lives posses.

It's not simple,  
not with the hiding  
with the secrets  
with the lies.  
But it feels simple  
feels like enough  
feels like forever.  
They are but youths  
and the world is their oyster-  
at least some times,  
for some things-  
and they have nothing but time.  
So things like simple  
like enough  
like forever  
sound to them like paradise.


	4. Four

They're reading Romeo and Juliet  
in an all boys school,  
you can see how this wouldn't go well.  
Keating had assured them  
'boys played girls in Elizabethan times'  
but that doesn't make it better  
especially when Todd is Juliet.  
He'd been elected jokingly,  
picked on by the boys  
about his chemistry with Neil  
when they were Hamlet and Horatio.  
His cheeks are scarlet  
palms sweaty  
but Neil's smile  
makes the tension in his shoulders ease.  
Knox makes it better too  
with his rendition of Mrs. Capulet  
and Charlie as the nurse.

The balcony scene is the worst  
and the best  
Todd can't quite decide.  
He's standing on the desk  
in view of everyone  
his text book in his arms.  
Neil is below him  
positioned on the ground  
with eyes that gaze up at him   
filled with mirth.  
The boys don't laugh  
at Todd's stutter.  
Not because they're nice,  
but because Charlie threatened to knock out teeth.  
At first  
his face stays red  
tongue stumbling over words   
it has known for years.  
Keating tells him to speak up  
that Shakespeare should be shouted  
to say the words like they're truth.  
They are truth  
in a way  
but that doesn't really help.  
He's already waxed poetic about Neil  
just in his own words  
not someone else's,  
but those are never supposed to be read.

Things change  
when Neil starts reading.  
He was born to act  
and attention reverts to him.  
Where Todd was monotone  
Neil has feeling  
Neil has longing  
Neil has joy.  
Neil isn't just speaking truth  
he is truth  
he embodies it  
shining through any lies that Todd has ever been told.  
He believes every word he says  
and then some.  
He is amazing-  
but Todd already knew that-.

When it's his turn to speak again  
he hardly stutters  
too busy being enraptured   
by everything his friend has said.  
Their eyes meet  
in the confrontation  
and during the declaration of love  
Todd could have wept  
with the truth in his friend's eyes.


	5. Five

Moonlight Kisses  
are Todd's favorite thing.  
He's written a poem about them  
one that Neil stole  
and read  
but now it's stuffed inside the notebook hidden under his bed.

There's something about Moonlight Kisses  
something different  
something magic.  
He expects Neil to think he's silly  
to laugh at his fanciful ideas  
but he doesn't.  
Instead he smiles  
bright  
and blinding  
so far out shining the moon  
and says,  
“Aren't they?”  
He speaks his ideas so rarely  
it's nice to have them agreed with.  
But the other boy doesn't stop there  
no  
instead he jumps upon his bed  
standing so that he towers more than usual  
drawing all attention in the room-  
except Todd's the only one in the room  
and Neil always has Todd's attention  
but he would have  
had there been others-.

His impromptu poetry starts off well,   
lamenting on the moon and its magic  
the romance of the night  
but he soon loses steam.  
Todd is the true poet after all  
and he calls upon him for lines  
as he would when they rehearse a play.  
He offers  
as best he can  
and every line Neil repeats back,  
adding such emotion to his words  
Todd almost forgets they're his own.  
He talks about romance  
about magic  
about seduction  
and Neil parrots it back  
giving the words life  
setting them free in the room  
weighing down the air with them  
till the atmosphere is heady  
and thick.

When they're done  
and the words have run out  
they remain in the air  
infecting the boys  
with their implications.  
Neil sits  
Todd joins him  
almost against his own will  
the gravity between them too strong  
any resistance futile.  
That night  
there are an abundance  
of Moonlight Kisses.


	6. Six

He had never been good at  
speaking.  
Public or otherwise.  
His words stumbled  
and tripped  
falling over themselves  
like a wobbly toddler  
still too young to stand.  
When attention was on him  
his palms would sweat  
his mouth would dry  
and he would feel inadequate  
unable to master  
this basic human skill.

Neil had made it better  
easier  
less like something  
that would swallow him whole.  
With Neil  
words had been easy  
flowed freely  
he had an abundance of them  
and the ability to share.  
He was a poet.  
He never would have guessed  
he was a wordsmith,  
that people would enjoy  
what he had to share.  
Public speaking  
would never be the easiest  
but with Neil  
he could say anything.  
Todd thought it would last forever  
that he had been fixed  
but then Neil was gone.

Speaking  
was harder than ever.  
He tripped  
and stumbled  
over his words  
like a toddler would their feet.  
Either that  
or they wouldn't come at all.  
He was silent  
mute  
and inadequate.  
He had words  
important words  
words with feelings  
and knowledge  
and fear.  
He could put them on paper  
but never correctly  
never the way he wanted  
so he just stopped trying.

The words were building up though  
collecting on his tongue  
in his mouth  
down his throat  
crowding his head.  
They accumulated  
became something else  
beast like  
a monster.  
One day  
they would eat him alive.


	7. Seven

Todd's foot was down.  
Not that it mattered  
ever  
when it came to Neil.  
Brown eyes  
dimples  
and an uneven grin  
would always be his weakness.  
“We can't afford a cat.”  
was a weak dispute  
anyway.

“We can spare  
a little milk  
now and then.”  
It was the neighborhood cat  
after all.  
She showed up  
every few days  
small and black  
sneaking through the window  
they left open for the breeze.  
No tags  
just a quiet meow  
you could only catch  
if you were really listening.

She tolerated Todd  
but she adored Neil  
would curl up at his side  
as he read.  
Sometimes  
if Todd was quiet  
in his approach  
he could catch the man  
reading aloud  
to the cat curled up  
in his lap.  
When he would practice lines  
pacing back and forth  
she would sit on the couch  
a dutiful audience  
green eyes following  
his restless movements.

Finally  
with some persuasion  
Todd gave in.  
That Christmas  
she'd gotten tags  
and a light pink collar.  
Jokingly  
they'd named their little drifter  
Nuwanda.


	8. Eight

Todd and Neil  
are that couple  
who have been together forever.  
No one questions it  
because it's always been  
always will be  
it is life  
and normalcy  
and intertwined hands  
as they walk down school halls.  
One does not see  
Todd without Neil  
or Neil without Todd  
and when one does  
it's right to be worried.

It's a shock then  
when Neil is gone.  
To see Todd  
in the hallways  
alone  
with hands empty.  
To see the desk  
next to his  
vacant,  
partner work  
now a solo act.  
He's an island   
that though once grounded  
is drifting farther out to sea.  
He's lost his anchor  
his earth  
his sun  
his blue blue sky.  
He's lost his words  
his poetry  
any and all  
shy smiles.

Sometimes  
if you look close enough  
you can see his left hand  
curled into a fist  
trying to grasp  
what slipped through his fingers  
like sand.


	9. Nine

Neil gives you heart palpitations.  
It's going to kill you one day  
you know it.  
But then  
death by Neil  
doesn't seem all that bad.

There's the ridiculous ideas  
plans he gets into his head  
and won't let go.  
Sneaking out  
causing trouble  
taking risks,  
all things you  
had never considered before.  
When he steals your writing  
and your heart leaps  
because no  
he can't read that  
it's about him,  
and though it doesn't say  
you're sure he'll know.  
He doesn't though  
he smiles  
and says it's beautiful  
once you've chased him around the room  
trying to get it back.

There are other things  
too.  
Simple things.  
Things like smiles  
that take your breath away  
as blinding   
as the sun.  
There are touches  
that make your breathing hitch  
a point of warmth  
on your cold skin.  
There are words  
that make your heart stop  
declarations  
so rash  
so sudden  
you never see them coming  
and they make you stop  
and stare.

He'll be the death of you  
one day,  
but you'll enjoy  
every minute.


	10. Ten

Your hands are empty  
and it's odd.  
You're used to long digits  
held in your own  
softer than yours  
due to soccer  
instead of rowing.  
You try to fill them  
with other things  
like pens  
and rulers  
and notebooks.  
None of them are the same  
though,   
they're not soft skin  
between your fingers  
thumb running  
along your own  
patterns  
being traced  
into your palm  
like constellations.

You held a girl's hand  
once,  
but it was different.  
While her digits were short  
his were long.  
Her's smelled of cherry  
and lilac,  
his retained graphite  
and old paper.  
Her's stayed limp  
in your hand,  
his gripped back  
tight  
and unyielding.  
Her's were wet  
with sweat  
and lotion,  
his were dry  
to the point that  
in the winter  
they cracked at the knuckles.

You wish you had  
those hands  
with you now.  
That those  
cracked knuckles  
were against your cheeks  
catching your tears  
as they fell.  
If you want  
hard enough  
you can feel the ghost  
of those fingers  
running along your skin  
soothing  
your breaking heart.


	11. Eleven

Oh!   
How sad.  
These tears running down his cheeks  
staining his bedsheets  
with salt  
wetting his papers  
with sorrow  
leaking through his fingers  
when he hides his face in shame  
and grief.

Oh!  
Such pain.  
These feelings  
burdened on those so young  
punches to the gut  
each time they wake  
no sun  
to brighten their mornings.

Oh!  
Such grief.  
Tangled in all souls  
with the loss of one so young  
just some  
more than others  
just a few  
with no cure to their wounds  
just one  
sworn off all others  
irrevocably changed  
by childhood trauma  
wounded too deep  
to be treated by human hands.

Oh!  
How true.  
These moments of silence  
these broken hallelujahs  
found in choked sobs  
in shaking hands  
in wavering voice  
and violent stands.

Oh!  
These sweet good-byes  
whispered in the pauses  
that space between breath  
where wishes are too true  
to grant any earthly gratification.


End file.
